


missing you

by anonymice



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, badly written plotless fluff.....it is Back, daichi is sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-12 00:32:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18000377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymice/pseuds/anonymice
Summary: At practice, questions of Daichi’s disappearance hit him left, right and centre. He deflects them all with a practiced smile and a bold declaration of taking his rightful place as the ruler of the gym. The rush of newfound authority to enforce ridiculous penalties, coupled with the physical thrill from putting his all into the game creates the glue that holds his facade together. He almost forgets about the coat hook that hangs empty in the club room, right next to his own.***Or Daichi gets sick and Suga worries (but it all turns out good in the end).





	missing you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crollalanza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/gifts), [jadehqknb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadehqknb/gifts), [notsoblake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsoblake/gifts).



> Hi! Not much to explain this one except it started with wanting to write Daichi falling asleep with his head on Suga's shoulder, the image of a cute, grumpy, ill Daichi and the rest happened along the way.
> 
> Features a cameo from Daichi's sister, Moeko, from a previous fic 'every melody is timeless'.

“Where’s Daichi?” 

The question sticks to him throughout the day. 

Suga checks his phone, worry growing in his stomach. His texts from the morning are unanswered, his calls at break stay unreturned. Even though Daichi prefers face-to-face conversations, he’s generally civilised enough to respond to his texts - especially when they culminate in a string of angry face emojis.

Throughout the day, Suga drifts, feeling untethered. In every class he shares with Daichi, he glances over at the empty desk. At lunch, a voicemail message greets him and by the afternoon, he has exhausted each possibility his mind unhelpfully offers. 

Just one text, one sign of mere existence would be enough to stop his fingers tapping away on the table. But no matter how many times he risks detention, checking his phone prove to be an exercise in futility. 

At practice, questions of Daichi’s disappearance hit him left, right and centre. He deflects them all with a practiced smile and a bold declaration of taking his rightful place as the ruler of the gym. The rush of newfound authority to enforce ridiculous penalties, coupled with the physical thrill from putting his all into the game creates the glue that holds his facade together. He almost forgets about the coat hook that hangs empty in the club room, right next to his own. 

Despite his chest heaving with exertion, Suga manges a smile for the first time that day. He dives in headfirst, pure instinct and passion fuelling his body. The same emotions that make his relationship with Daichi feel so easy.

Deep down, he knows there’s some logical explanation, but the rational part of his brain is smothered by the voice that Daichi is lying at the bottom of a ditch and somehow he’s the one that pushed him in. 

Nonetheless, he makes an effort to keep himself in check, for the sake of the team and for his own self-improvement. With the same energy he uses on the court, he tackles each unlikely thought, countering it with whatever dregs of optimism he can muster.

Perhaps it’s this effort then that frees up headspace to realise he has another resource at his disposal. Namely Daichi’s little sister. Someone he can count on to actually answer their damn phone. 

Not a minute later and his phone vibrates. He’s almost forgotten what that sounds like. 

_moemoe: he’s sick and not looking after himself_

_can you come and kick his ass?_

_also bring some jawbreakers pls?_

_extra sour?_

_don’t tell mum_

_i’ll pay u back_

The relief is instant. Suga rests his head against the wall, smile blooming on his face. The plan to march over to Daichi’s house is still very much going ahead, but knowing what awaits him at the end is a great deal more comforting. 

_using your brother to get me to buy you sweets?_

_i applaud your tactics_

The reply is immediate.

_moemoe: thanks suga-san i learnt from the best_

Suga huffs out a laugh. Somewhere along the way, his fondness for Daichi extended to the rest of the Sawamura siblings. (Really, it was as inevitable as falling for his best friend). 

The screen lights up and this time, the sender name makes his heart leap through his ribcage.

_miyagi’s next top model: I’m fine_

_don’t come over_

_just sdfghgf_

Suga doubts Daichi has finally embraced the language of keysmashing, but the feeling of something digging into his shoulder stops him from trying to decipher it straight away.

It’s Tanaka, resting his elbow and shooting a grin that Suga is all too familiar with. 

“Oh, texting your boyfriend?”

It’s cute how invested Tanaka is in their relationship. Or maybe more so in Daichi. As Tanaka leans over with cocky confidence, Suga can practically feel the heat radiating off his face as he catches sight of the objectively accurate display name he’s bestowed upon the future face of the modelling industry.

Letting Tanaka’s elbow fall off his shoulder in shock, Suga fires off a few question marks, watching intently as the ellipses pop up, indicating he’s about to receive a much-needed reply.

_miyagi’s next top model: it’s moeko i took his phone_

_i said u were coming over_

_told u he’s being stupid come over asap_

_with the jawbreakers_

“Your going to Dai-san’s?” Tanaka says. Whatever remark accompanied with eyebrow wiggling he’d wanted to give seems to have evaporated with the rest of his general level of functioning. He avoids eye contact, instead looking down at his feet as he shuffles his fingers together. Suga’s chest warms at the sight. 

“Of course,” he tells him, endeared by his actions. But along with the thought spirals and determination, there’s that little voice of lighthearted mischief that wants to make its mark. 

Flashing him a look that’s equal parts coy and sly, the one that never fails to rile Daichi, Suga lets himself have just a little bit of fun. 

“Wanna join?” 

The spluttering that follows is priceless. 

***

Daichi’s mother greets him at the door. 

“You should’ve seen him honestly. As soon as it was time, he was wrestling his way out of the blanket insisting that he was fine enough to go to practice.”

“I can imagine,” Suga chuckles. “Where’s Moe-chan?” He asks, peering around. 

“She said she wanted to give you two some space.” Suga blinks back a tear or three. Moeko was so considerate.

“Or maybe,” Sawamura-san says as her eyes flicker towards his hand, “she just wants to give you the money for the sweets when I’m not around.”

Right. The bag of jawbreakers. The one he clearly hasn’t done a great job of hiding in his jacket. 

Reflexively, Suga throws her a smile, the one that works eighty-percent of the time. From the way Sawamura-san sighs, it seems the odds aren’t his favour.

“I suppose I can’t stop her from rotting her teeth and Daichi would probably cave and let her have some if I took them off you.” Suga wonders if Sawamura-san was ever a teacher in her past life because her tone sends a cold chill down his spine. But, much like her son, it doesn’t take her too long to soften. 

“You’d better go and see him. He’s been mumbling your name in his sleep.”

The sheer loveliness of his boyfriend will hit Suga later, in the form of yelling into his pillow and posting a tweet that the team will no doubt call him out on for being ‘disgustingly cheesy, worse than Noya-san’s socks’. For now, the urge to see Daichi overrides all other thought. He slips off his shoes, ready to race upstairs and give his boyfriend a well-placed punch and some cautiously-placed kisses when he hears the sound he’s been yearning for all day.

“Suga? Is Suga here?” The voice is hoarse and desperate but Suga could recognise it from a mile away. The turmoil eases, replaced by longing. Only a few streets away from each other, only apart for a day but Suga feels he’s missed Daichi enough to span a lifetime.

Following the sound, Suga almost sprints into the living room, and takes in the sight before him.

His boyfriend is lying on the sofa, swaddled in a blanket, with the exception of his feet poking out of his cocoon. A few pillows lay strewn on the floor, no doubt casualties of Daichi’s earlier attempt at convincing Suga everything was fine, with scrunched up tissues decorating the floor. In the background, the TV flickers, unattended. 

Even when he’s sick, Daichi somehow manages to look cute. The rudolph-red nose, the grumpy frown, the cowlicked hair plastered to his sweaty forehead,. All of it makes Suga hide a laugh. The poor guy really does not like being ill. A fact made even more evident that when Daichi tries, and subsequently fails, to lift himself up, he still persists with little success. 

Placing the bag of super sour extra-strength jawbreakers on the coffee table, Suga turns and stands over Daichi, one hand on his hip, the other reaching out to feel Daichi’s forehead. He brushes at the stray hairs, unable to resist gliding his fingers through the rest. 

“What have you gone and done to yourself?” He scolds, but there’s barely any bite. Although he’s no stranger to Daichi’s warmth, his fever is on another level. 

“Bleh, you’re all sweaty,” Suga moans, wiping his hands on his jeans. It doesn’t stop him from grabbing Daichi’s feet and lifting them up, squeezing himself into the space next to the armrest and resting his boyfriend’s surprising unsmelly feet on his lap.

“Not my fault,” Daichi mumbles defensively as he wiggles himself out of his blanket burrito. “Basketball.”

“The basketball captain?” Suga guesses, relishing the opportunity to indulge in Daichi’s petty feud. It’s not just for his own enjoyment. Sometimes, when Daichi tries to shoulder everything himself, he needs to let loose. 

“He coughed on me last week. On purpose.” 

“Of course,” Suga plays along. “Want me to murder him and make sure no-one finds the body?” 

Daichi replies by sneezing into his blanket, groaning in the aftermath. 

The dull chatter from the TV fills the air, settling in the space between them like dust. It’s not content, not like usual. It’s thick and heavy and Suga has half a mind to text Mokeo for a distraction. 

But then Daichi speaks, halting Suga’s thoughts. 

“You didn’t need to-” he starts weakly but Suga’s glare stops him from finishing his sentence. 

“Don’t,” Suga tells him, voice as croaky as Daichi’s. The words hover on his tongue. All day his mind has been on edge. It’s partly the restlessness that pushes on his words, and the trust in his boyfriend that lets them loose. 

“Why didn’t you text me?” 

“My phone died at lunch,” comes the explanation. 

The cavity in Suga’s chest starts to recede. That explained the voicemail. 

“But you still had the morning,” he points out. “You could have text me then.” He can barely hear the sound of his own voice but somehow, Daichi catches it.

“I didn’t want to worry you.” It’s so predictably Daichi, and still so heartwarming. 

“You’re lucky your cute, Sawamura,” Suga mutters. Daichi, reliable as ever, catches that too. 

“Yeah? I’m cute?” 

Those wide brown eyes and boyish smile make a sigh rise in Suga’s chest. They would definitely be an asset to his modelling career. 

“Oi, I’m still telling you off.” Suga smacks his foot lightly. “You made me wonder where you were all day.” He doesn't say it, but the tremble in his words must be enough. 

_I missed you._

It’s quiet for a few long moments and Suga starts to regret opening his mouth but a gentle squeeze of his hand grounds him. Daichi tries to lift himself up again, slowly making progress. Suga lends him a helping hand. With a strength Suga never wants to stop being pleasantly surprised by, Daichi hauls himself up, grasping his hand firmly. Their shoulders touch, comfortably close, and Suga waits for Daichi to catch his breath. 

“You’re right. I should have told you.” His thumb glides across the back of Suga’s hand. “I’m sorry,” he says, turning to look him in the eye. 

_I missed you too_. 

In all honesty, he can never stay mad at Daichi for long. Not when that apologetic grin, so sincere and unintentionally charming is gifted to him. The image of Daichi wrapped up in a bow springs to mind, and Suga feels the tension lift from his shoulders. 

“I’ll let you off this time. Besides,” he says with a playful nudge, “I got to be you for a day.” 

“Yeah? How was being captain?”

“So. Damn. Good.” Suga punctuates each word with delight-filled emphasis. “How do you not get drunk on power?”

“I have you to keep me in check.” 

Daichi’s eyes are bleary and tinged with redness but somehow imbue the same doe-eyed quality that makes a healthy Suga’s knees wobble. He’ll never tire of Daichi’s brand of wholehearted honesty. 

Partly to distract from the heat fizzing in his cheeks and partly to share what he considers his personal accomplishments at disciplining the team, Suga pulls out his phone from his pocket. 

“Wanna see the chicken dance I made Kageyama do?” The next twenty minutes pass in a one-sided flurry of videos from practice and wild gestures as Suga recounts his experience as captain. Stolen glances and dimpled smiles weave their way through Suga’s dramatic narration of events. It’s midway through his third replay of the team’s alarmingly spectacular failure of a water bottle flip challenge that Daichi’s sheer will to stay awake for Suga’s sake dissolves. Suga shuffles closer, letting Daichi use his shoulder as a cushion, as Daichi’s not-so-gentle snoring lulls him into the cosiest nooks of his mind. 

Later, Suga will wake up to the sight of a pile of change scattered across the table, his phone alerting him to a snap of Daichi and himself drifting away. His gaze will land on their hands clasped in each others, with a shower of heart emojis adorning the caption reading ‘#goals’ in the middle. He’ll ask for the original, save it as his lock screen and when he burrows himself into his duvet and drinks Daichi’s homemade soup, he’ll look at it fondly as he wonders how he got so lucky. 

(A few streets away, with the glow of his phone illuminating his face, his boyfriend will wonder the same).

**Author's Note:**

> Moeko, cramming a jawbreaker in her mouth while crying: love is real 
> 
> This one is for Carole, Jade and Blake - if it wasn't for your encouragement on twitter, I doubt I would ever had continued with this. Thank you so much for your kindness <3
> 
> Feel free to yell with me about daisuga on [twitter](https://twitter.com/valorsimplicity) / [tumblr](http://valourandsimplicity.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
